The Inevitability of a Meeting
by Trins xxx
Summary: Some souls are so connected that their meeting in this world is inevitable. There were countless ways they could've met, but only one wat that they did... The souls of Lockhart and Gardner.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer****: **I do not own The Good Wife. It would be called The Awesome Duo of Lockhart and Gardner if I did... (Or possibly a better title.)

**Author's Note****: **Some souls are so connected that their meeting in this world was inevitable. There were countless ways they could've met, but only one wat that they did...

* * *

**The Inevitability of a Meeting**

**Missed Opportunity #1**

'_There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.'_

~ Leonard Cohen ~

Diane smiled thoughtfully to herself, suppressing the smugness that she was feeling. It had been a while since someone young – only six years out of law school – had been arrogant enough to think that he could defeat her. It was..._cute_. He had charm, mixed in with the arrogance but the arrogance had neither been sexist, nor malicious, and it had softened Diane enough that she didn't go in with her full arsenal. She could have humiliated him and it could have been entertaining but there was something quite puppy-like about him.

'Good show,' the words drifted towards her.

Her smile grew bigger and she turned her eyes to look into his dark ones. 'Thank you. I aim to please.' She kept her words light, careful not to antagonise the poor puppy.

'I don't think this was quite _pleasing _to me exactly,' his own smile grew as he approached her with a walk Diane was very familiar with. Poor little puppy. 'But going to dinner with me would definitely please me.'

He was smooth, she would give him that. Her smile grew wider, more sincere. 'A dinner with me is sure to please anyone,' she bantered back.

'I don't doubt that but dinner with me would be pleasing to you too.' He has gradually sidled up to her and Diane had to admit that his scent was delightfully masculine _and _tempting. She could do dinner with him – no doubt he would pay even though she easily earned three, if not four, times his salary. If his current repartee was anything to go by, it would also be an entertaining and satisfying meal in more than one way. And whilst she would not dare to guess his prowess in bed, that too could be satisfying.

'What do you say, hmm?' He is close enough for her to feel the most ghostly impression of his body on her, his voice warmly wafting over her face

'I'm sure it'll be very satisfying but I hate to break hearts and leave men inconsolable, as the young ones invariably are.' There's a smirk playing across her face but there's a softness there, as he actually steps back in surprise. The poor child...but it would be more cruel to use him for her own pleasure and then rid of him when she tired. She would not be so cruel to someone she had already defeated emphatically.

'I could deal with heartbreak,' his brown eyes scorching into hers. 'And I'm sure I'd find consolation eventually, in immersion in sports if not other women.' His smile was confident and it was so tempting to give into it. It had been a good few months since her last liaison.

'I'm sure you could find plenty of consolation in plenty of women,' she'd said instead, drily. 'But I'm afraid I'll have to deprive you of the charm of my company.'

She finally distances herself from his proximity, her paperwork already filed away within her briefcase as she takes leisurely steps towards the exit from the courtroom. He is quick to fall into step beside her, matching his stride to hers.

'Okay how about a drink,' he pastes a winning smile that is sure to have many women swooning. Diane Lockhart is determined not to add to their number. 'Or three? I know a bar that has recently opened. Their cocktails are meant to be incredible.' His smile has a touch of the predator. It's sexy and looks oh so delightfully promising. 'I've heard that they've been compared to _la petite morte_ on the tastebuds.'

His teeth are gleaming and he is just the sort of man that could whet her appetite. Careful about his appearance and well-dressed, but no hints of body image obsessions – no bulging muscles or sinewy limbs. His dark hair matches his dark eyes, hair styled stylishly but simply. His words indicate his wit and intelligence and his interest in her, after defeat at her hands, says as much about his true values and personality as the cocky lines he utters.

She sighs internally, full of regret. What a shame. 'That sounds tempting,' she purrs, eyes half-lidded, enjoying the momentary slack in his jaw. 'But a pity about the cocktails. I'm more of a whiskey person.'

The smirk returns at full voltage as she walks away, fully aware that he will be staring at her hips that she lilts from side to side. It's hours later that her thoughts return to him and the bar. It could've been fun. _He _could've been fun. _He could've been more than fun_, the thought drifts across her mind. It wasn't uncommon for men to be gracious about defeat at her hands – she had formed a reputation and had solidified it, one case (and victory) at a time. It had made losses that would've stung a half-decade ago acceptable but it was still a rarity for a man, suffering from such a loss, to be interested in her, romantically or in more carnal ways. And that made that man – _boy_ – as common as she was and wouldn't that have made them a match pair?

But he offered you _cocktails_, she reminded herself, nose wrinkling at the thought. What possibility was there for a long-term anything between her and somebody that clearly shared a preference for cocktails?

By the next day, he had slipped from her mind, as had the cocktails he had so misguidedly suggested to her. She was, however, still firmly entrenched in his mind.

Savouring a sip of one of the cocktails he had suggested to her, he hummed with satisfaction.

'You enjoy those far too much.'

'Fuck you Gardner,' he retorted without missing a beat.

'I'm sorry about your loss,' Will offered in a show of friendship, even as laughter swirled within his eyes.

'You knew I didn't have a chance,' his friend countered, throwing him a darkling look.

'I did hear rumours that Ms Lockhart was interested in the case,' Will admitted.

'And you didn't want to end your winning streak,' he accused.

'I wanted to give you the opportunity to start a decent winning streak,' Will said instead. For a few moments, they both sipped their drinks, the one savouring the taste and the other gulping it in an attempt to minimise the disgustingly sweet drops from assaulting his tongue for more time than necessary. 'So what was she like then?' Will finally asked the question that was the only reason he was here at this deplorable bar.

A sigh wafted across to him. 'She was...remarkable.'

The word was carefully selected and Will repeated it. 'Remarkable?'

'Yeah, or maybe glorious; she was like a goddess amongst men within the confines of law.'

He'd always been a wet blanket, Will thought disgustedly, waxing poetic about a lawyer that defeated him. 'Sounds like she was impressive,' he tried to disguise the sarcasm that crept into his words.

'She was. It was like she was painting the Sistine Chapel with her arguments, writing Shakespeare and translating Dostoevsky with her motions.'

'It's like you love her.' The words slipped out before Will could stop them. He took a gulp of his cocktail in frustration and nearly choked on the foul taste.

'I would, given half the chance.'

There was a strange wistfulness that made Will quirk an eyebrow. He shoved down the delicate tendrils of jealousy. 'Even despite her winning?'

'You weren't there, Will. You have no idea what a force that creature is.'

There was a smug look of superiority on his face that Will wanted to rip off. He downed the rest of the drink, ready to leave and completely unsatisfied with the poetic answers he had been given. 'You should've asked her out.'

'I did,' he replied baldly, and this time, Will's reaction was clear, his eyebrows doing their best to embrace his hairline.

'And...' he prompted.

'She preferred whiskey,' the shrug was nonchalant but there was more than a hint of regret.

'Hard luck.' Will only allowed the smile to blossom once he was walking away. His interest was piqued, now more than ever, and he briefly wondered if he had made a wrong decision in giving away this case. Maybe losing a case was worth going up against someone that seemed so singular amongst women? His mind dwelled on Ms Lockhart and her preference for whiskey for quite some time to come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer****: **I don't own The Good Wife.

**The Inevitability of a Meeting**

**Missed Opportunity #2**

'_Are you breathing, are you lucky enough to be breathing?_'

~ Hettie Jones ~

Her steps aren't hurried, containing her usual sense of purpose; they're leisurely, a little stately, a tiny bit graceful, but within them is her equivalent to a skip. She doesn't quite know where or how she's picked that up (a dead mother, two brothers and a father means that nobody's taught her the girly niceties) but she's fairly sure that a _lady_ shouldn't skip, so she doesn't, but nevertheless, a certain lightness finds its way to her feet.

It's been instilled in her since she was young. She has to work hard, she can't take the money for granted, and regardless of what she goes into, she has to _succeed_. It's why there's a fluttering in her chest today. Triumph, _accomplishment_, success… The words are so _abstract_ that the teenager she is, she struggles to understand it, comprehend what it means for her or how she can achieve it. But this, _this_ is right at her fingertips, something concrete and solid that she can do to show that she doesn't take anything for granted, that she isn't the spoilt princess everyone is so keen to paint her (the jealousy dripping off those bitches is obvious but regardless of the reason, the judgment still stings).

'Issy?' The large green eyes of her youngest brother watch her carefully. She waits a moment, wonders what scathing gem will fall from those lips artlessly, borne of innocence rather than malice, which does nothing to dispel the bite in the words. Instead, he just plaintively raises his arms in the universal demand for a hug. She complies, holding his little body close to hers.

'You're late,' he tells her mournfully, lips pouting and widens his eyes, reminiscent of Bambi.

Her lips twitch at his serious tone but she refrains from smiling. She would do nothing to upset the fragile sensitivities of a seven year old. 'I know, I'm sorry,' she replies, her tone as sombre as his expression. 'But I'll cook you an _extra_ delicious dinner,' she promises him and his eyes brighten at the thought.

'Where's your brother?' She asks, instantly wary of the infamous brother's absence. She can't _hear_ or _see_ any evidence of chaos, but that's never been an indicator of his particular brand of childish anarchy. A shrug of his little adorable shoulders is her only answer as she walks quickly, immediately on high alert. Her eyes shift swiftly from side to side and she's using all five of her senses (some of the smells born from her brother's attempts at lawlessness were foul enough to taste; the memories cause a delicate shudder). She could be spectacular in the military, she thinks. It's a shame she's against violence and the predominantly innocent victims they accrue.

'Leo?' She calls out cautiously. She sweeps through all of the rooms downstairs and eventually makes it upstairs. She manages to rule out every room except his bedroom, and enters after a knock. 'Hello to you too, little brother,' she greets him with an amused smile as he scowls at her.

'I'm not little,' he grumbles, sitting at his largely unused desk.

'What are you doing? _Studying_?' She needles him with faux shock. Peering over his shoulder, she sees a list of words. 'Spelling test tomorrow?' She guesses sympathetically. Dropping a quick kiss on his forehead, she heads to the kitchen, and before long, there's an appetising smell emanating from there that draws her youngest brother, Matt, soon enough to her side. His large eyes watch her as she moves around, dropping a pinch of this and a hint of that, his sticky fingers finding their way to tasty morsels of food left unsupervised as Diane cooks.

The dinner's been ready for ten minutes before her father finds his way to the table. It's not that he doesn't pay attention to his children; this attention just tends to be more freely given over weekends, between episodes of doing work. His brittle beard tickles Diane's cheeks as he kisses her, before kissing the others. There's no thank you – there's never been any. She could never pinpoint how or when, but at some point, a few years after the death of her mother, it sort of became accepted that when she could, Diane would cook. Kristin, whose many responsibilities had included cooking, gradually bestowed that responsibility entirely to her.

'Smells delicious,' her father's voice rumbles down the table and she smiles. It's said every day but it always pleases her.

They eat dinner companionably, the mood light as her father good-naturedly quizzes them all on their days. Nothing exciting, nothing out of the ordinary has been spoken of _just _yet but Diane is gearing up for it, forcing back a nervous tapping of her fingers.

It's only when her father sighs with mingled relief and satisfaction, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him, that Diane broaches the topic.

'I've found a job,' she tells him. It sounded a lot more forceful and mature in her head. Her father does nothing but savour a sip of the ink-coloured drink.

'What is this job you've found, little one?' She doesn't take offence at the 'little' – she used to, when she had just entered her teen years but after arguments and what she begrudgingly admits (now) were tantrums, he had told her, lovingly gruff, that to him, no matter how old any one of them will get, they will always be his little ones. It warmed her up then and it warms her up now.

'There's someone who's looking for a babysitter for a couple of evenings a week. They've got five children but only three need looking after.' She casts a sly eye at both of her brothers in turn. 'I think I can handle.'

'I have no doubt you can,' her father replies, amusement in his eyes as he, too, looks at the boys. 'But why do you want this job? Do you want to au pair in Europe?'

For a moment, this flaps her because _isn't it obvious_ why she wants to do this? It has nothing to do with Europe, and she has no intentions of wasting time au pairing. If she wants to see Europe, she will see it and do so in her own style. 'Well, I could start saving up.'

'We're well off and I have plenty of money saved up in your name.'

'It'll also teach me the value of a dollar,' she slings the cliché off her tongue. It's not entirely untrue, either.

'But you already know the value of a dollar,' her father's eyes are looking kindly at her but it feels as demeaning as a pat on the head. 'You like to spend money but you are no spendthrift. I have no concerns that you are spoilt.'

All compliments but Diane's gets the feeling that she's arguing to keep this job when she was expecting applaud for getting it. (She has no doubt she will, when she applies for it.) 'Well, it'll teach me responsibility and it'll add weight to my college applications and it'll be a good experience all round,' she says, a little defiantly.

Her father almost looks sad when he answers her. 'You have enough responsibility as it is, little one. Too much, I think.' He glances again at her brothers and she wonders if he's sad because of the loss of her mother or because of the responsibilities given to her. 'Writing about looking after your brothers will be more than good enough for colleges and I have more faith than you seem to have in you, to know that you are mature and kind and hardworking. And charismatic, little one. You don't notice it but I do. Better than this babysitting job, I think you should do a bit of debating and focus on your studies.'

His voice is as warm as his eyes, as warm as he is when he hugs her, that it eases all of her irritation. 'I am proud of you and you do not need a menial job to tell me what a good girl you are. Study hard and you will have the world at your feet.'

The rest of the night passes away as most other nights for the last several years have, and it's only when she's preparing for bed that she catches sight of the advertisement. She glances at it for one more second, feeling a tug of guilt and desire, before dropping it in the bin.

Sorry Mrs Gardner, guess someone else will have to look after your kids, she thinks as she snuggles under the duvet. It would've been nice to do the job though. She wonders if maybe the appeal was being able to discard the responsibility once the job was done. But her brothers would never be 'responsibilities' to her, and definitely none that she could ever discard. Still, it would've been interesting meeting the Gardner family. Maybe she will, one day.

She's forgotten about them by the next morning.

**Author's Note****: **I have been working on this one for a while. It's quite Diane-centric again but I have a back-story for her now, along with where her family members are now, who they are, _what_ they are (like) and everything, and I am slowly filling in Will's back-story too. The next chapter will definitely be rich in Will, so for the Will-fans out there, the next one's for you.

I have to say, this was an odd-ball idea I had bouncing around, and actually, I had come up with the idea for the next story in this 'series' as such, before coming up with this and deciding that this would be the better intro. Nor did I expect such a positive response. I was not expecting a single review, favourite or follow, so colour me ever so pleasantly surprised.

I hope you guys like it, but if you don't, let me know why. Reviews are always a pleasure to read but so is constructive criticism.

A big thank you to **NarcissaMinerva** for favouriting the story and following it. A big thank you to **StrawberrySab **and **nikkiluv18 **for following the story.

**Ellen21: **I'm glad my story wasn't a let down and that you enjoyed it. I hope you continue to browse our forum and enjoy the stories – there's plenty of great ones here!

**StrawberrySab: **I'm actually really glad you mentioned the writing style, because I was toying with it a little bit and some parts were difficult to write. So I'm really glad that you did enjoy it; it makes the hard work all worthwhile. If you get the chance to read it, tell me what you think of the writing style for this chapter too.

**Marysunshine81: **It was such a pleasure to see your review. Your Diane-centred stories were partially what spurred me to finally take action and write something down. Let me know if you think my Diane and Will are in character or not.

**Xin79: **Thank you _so much_ for your compliments. The fact that you could compare my writing style to classic novels – there can be no higher praise. And in fact, this is just what I needed to work on original fiction. When I have some of it up, I might post a link here or on my page, and it would honestly give me a lot of pleasure if you could pop in and read it and give me your opinion on the original fiction too. Thank you, again. It's one of the kindest reviews I have ever received.

**NarcissaMinerva: **I hope you continue to read it and enjoy. Do tell me what you think – I went back several years in this one, to build a bit of history behind both Diane and Will. (Isn't it amazing how little we know about Diane, overall? It's almost like she is this enigma on the show, more so than Kalinda, even.)

I hope you guys enjoy the chapter. I purposely leave my author notes to the end, so that I don't have any impact on your first reading of the chapter. Do tell me what I can do better – constructive criticism is always a pleasure to read.

_**~ Trins ~**_


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